Off The Wall
by QTR
Summary: Fannysmackin' fic. Things began to become clearer. He was against the wall. SHE was against the wall. GregSara. Twoshot. Completed.
1. Protection

**A/N: This is a Fannysmackin' Greg/Sara two-shot I wanted to write after seeing the episode. Hope you guys enjoy it!**

Everything was a blur. It was all moving much too quickly for him to comprehend. But before he knew it they were up against the wall- he was against the wall. _She_ was against the wall.

It was supposed to be a harmless dinner. Maybe even Sara's attempt at humoring his schoolboy crush, Greg Sanders wasn't sure. But he and Sara were simply supposed to go out for a quick dinner before he had to go back to his crime-scene. That hadn't stopped him from putting on cologne with a name like Sex Panther. Warrick and Nick had teased him about it, and maybe the name _was _ridiculous… It didn't matter. All that mattered was that one day when Sara was walking past Greg in one of the labs she had said she liked the smell.

So that had sealed the deal. And with slicked-back hair and a slicked-back Mr. Cool-Guy attitude Greg had walked up to Sara confidently that night and asked her if she wanted to have dinner. Sara was a bit shocked at the invitation- she was wearing dirty blue CSI scrubs and had sweat dripping down her face and the small of her back, but there was something about Greg that always made her feel like the most attractive woman on the face of the earth. Maybe it was because Mr. Sanders thought of Sara Sidle as a goddess; he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever set his eyes on, her skin had been kissed by the lips of the angels and her eyes were a realm to godsend.

Sara had agreed quite flatteringly and Greg almost broke out into song right then and there he was so happy. But like the gentleman he was he left for her to get ready and then later silently danced in victory. _Finally_ Sara accepted his dinner invitation. It wasn't a date though, he had to remind himself. Catherine had once told him that Sara would agree to go on a date with him… if he just didn't tell her it was a date.

The minutes seemed to tick by painstakingly long but when the moment arrived Greg was ecstatic. He was now dressed in his normal work attire of roughed-up grunge jeans, complete with tears and mustard stains from corndogs at those trips to the ball park with Warrick and Nick, a simple t-shirt, CSI vest and sneakers. A great part of him regretted not staying in his suit from the court meeting earlier that day as it did make him look quite ravishing if he did say so himself… but this wasn't a date. This was simply dinner before work.

With the most beautiful woman in the world.

When Sara had emerged from the locker room after taking a five minute shower she was a force to be reckoned with. Boy she cleaned up nice. So after already being infatuated by the scent of her perfume pouring off her body Greg followed Sara out the doors of the lab to his Denali.

They were going to go to a nice restaurant off the Strip by The Bellagio. Most of the tourists wanted more to go to the casino so there wasn't a terrible amount of foot traffic. It was perfect, Greg thought; candlelight dinner, maybe some champagne… Sara…

Sara and Greg knew most of Vegas like the back of their hands since they had to go all over town every night several days of the week, so they had decided to take a shortcut through one of the alleyways to save some time. They didn't want to be rushed during dinner, especially Greg. After ten minutes of driving and halfway through one of Greg's favorite songs, something caught Sara's attention out of her window.

The beatings. They had completely forgotten about the beatings. Between Greg's jokes and Sara's addictive giggle they had completely forgotten.

She had made him stop the car and back up so she could get a better view. She did about three double-takes before she knew it was really happening- they were witnessing it. Greg was starting to feel nervous; he was experienced for the short period of time he had been out in the field as a new CSI but he had never had to do something like this before. It was intimidating. Sara was the senior of the two of them, so he had looked to her for the answer.

She had told him to get out his radio and call Dispatch for back-up. But before the back-up would arrive the person getting pummeled by what looked to be possibly 10 or 12 other people might not have been able to hold on that long. Both Sara and Greg went against their better judgments and decided to act upon instinct. They weren't going to let an innocent person die.

Time skipped. After what seemed like forever there was silence. The headlights of the Denali were blinding. Greg's foot was still trembling on the gas pedal from when he had accelerated so abruptly.

"We need an ambulance," Sara told him, handing him the radio. She had to remain calm for Greg's sake. She was still shaken up but she was the more experienced of the two and she couldn't risk to show it now. Sara opened her door to get out and check on the person they had hit, and Greg would've told her not to but he couldn't speak. His mouth was glued shut. And that was when things went completely downhill.

Glass shattering. That was the one of the only sounds Greg remembered now. He remembered being pulled out of his car but everything after that was just a blur. There were rains of fists and feet and pain, and now he was up against the wall. But Sara, he thought. Where was _Sara?_

Clinging to the chain link fence with his fists as his attackers pulled, Greg turned his head to the side as best he could to look around for Sara, only to discover her right by his side, clinging to the fence desperately. Trying to move closer to her but failing miserably he watched in horror as she was pried from their only form of protection into the group of hooded monsters.

A kick to the legs buckle and he fell to the ground, looking around wildly for Sara. She was reaching for something and it took Greg a minute but he realized what it was- it was her gun on her holster. Before she could however she was attacked from behind, the gun falling harmlessly to the cold blood-smeared pavement.

Greg couldn't move. His body wouldn't move anymore and he felt numb. His mind was screaming at him to get up and protect her but his body wouldn't allow him to. The constant random slurs of obscenities from their attackers was finally becoming coherent as the attention was temporarily averted to Sara.

"Yeah bitch, how do you like that?" one of them cackled as Sara hit the ground.

"How you gonna cap me now, huh?" another asked, followed by the degrading laughter of their comrades as they watched her struggle to get back on her feet.

That was when Greg lost it. He somehow found the strength to get back up on his feet, and he snapped. Why were they hurting Sara? _Why?_ He realized now it was because she was the one perceived as more of a threat- she had had the gun. But how dare they.

How _dare _they!

Lunging forward at one of them, Greg was successful in tackling one of them to the ground by their midsections. Just as he was about to get up and get the rest away from Sara he was kicked to the ground where he landed just beside her, his side burning and his head pounding.

Sara made eye-contact with him as the rain of fists and feet continued, trying to send him some sort of signal that it was going to be okay. She didn't know exactly how, but it was going to be okay. She knew he was scared. _She_ was scared.

Finally the rain of blows stopped and Greg and Sara were left alone. Hearing the sound of spit in someone's mouth, Greg reached over and randomly scratched one of their attackers with his fingernails in hopes of directing the final act of degradation at him instead of Sara. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve any of this.

"This reminds me of something Papa Olaf used to say…" Greg mumbled. But he was too weak to continue his explanation of what Papa Olaf used to say before unconsciousness took over both his and Sara's bodies. Papa Olaf would have to wait.

With the knowledge that they had collected evidence from their attack they both laid on the dirty Vegas pavement, bloody, broken and bruised.

TBC


	2. My Favorite Mistake

**A/N: Wow, thanks for all the reviews guys! Here is the final chapter!**

Slowly he regained consciousness to the world around him. He heard the faint sound of sirens coming from… somewhere, he couldn't be sure where. Slowly he willed his body to move but it just wouldn't budge. He was too beaten to do much of anything now. Cracking one eye open as far as it would allow him to he looked around the area to inspect his surroundings.

He saw some flashing lights on top of a vehicle which he deducted was an ambulance. He heard some people arguing and protesting with what sounded like Sofia, and cops were circling around the area with crime-scene tape. Where was Sara, he wondered?

Rolling his eyes to the side Greg saw her laying limp on the ground next to him. He wasn't sure if she was awake yet or not. Her hair was now matted down with dirt and blood and her CSI vest was torn. Over the white stitching surrounding her name there was a smear of red that stopped just at the collar. "Sara," he hoarsely whispered.

After a few moments she began to respond. He could see her eyes flutter open and then close a few times as he tried to get adjusted to the morning sunlight. She took a few deep raspy breaths as she licked her dry lips, tasting blood on her tongue. She looked around a bit disoriented at first before she determined where the voice was coming from. "Greg," she responded. The simple reply wasn't much but it was an indication that they were both still alive, and they both desperately needed that.

Greg looked Sara over in the sunlight now and he saw blood on her face. His breathing seemed to become more rapid now as he examined the extent of what those people were able to do to her. She had a bloody cut on her forehead and her lip was purple, her arms were scraped up and Greg balled his fist in anger. How could someone mark her face? How could someone mark her arms, her… perfectly-tanned, freckle-dusted, sun-kissed arms?

"What a night, huh," Sara managed to get out. Oh, don't talk, he wanted to tell her, don't try and talk… He didn't know how badly she was hurt but however bad it was it was too bad. She shouldn't be lying on the ground next to him now, he thought. This was his fault, all because he couldn't take the hint when she had refused to go to dinner with him all those times. It was his fault he had the stubbornness of a 13-year-old. He wondered how she could still manage to be sarcastic.

"Yeah," he mumbled back instead. "I'm really sorry, Sara," he whispered.

Sara was puzzled. Had Greg been lying there all this time playing the blame game with himself? Because she had been doing the exact same thing. She was the senior and she was the one with experience. She was Greg's mentor… and she had let him down. In all sense of the word. She remembered Greg being so excited when he found out he had passed his final proficiency test to get into the field and now he was here, lying on the cold Vegas pavement bloody and bruised.

"It's not your fault, Greg," Sara whispered back. Oh, if only she had a brain, she thought…

"I was the one who hit them with my car," Greg mumbled in attempt to direct the fault back at him. He knew she was blaming herself but none of it was her fault. It was all Greg Sanders' fault, Mr. I-Have-A-Huge-Puppy-Dog-Crush-On-Sara-Sidle.

"But I tried to shoot at them with my gun," Sara mumbled back. She thought she was doing a good job at being a mentor, and she had failed at that. She had failed Greg, and she had failed herself. "And I failed at that too," she sadly whispered under her breath. She silently hoped Greg didn't hear her, and if she did… if she _dared_ start crying she'd blame it on PMS.

"You're not a failure," Greg mumbled, trying to open his eyes again. "You're… the only reason I ever got into the field." She was his role model and she hadn't realized it. She was the reason he _wanted_ to be in the field. "You're the best CSI we've got and I… I just wanted to make myself something."

"Greg…" Sara whispered.

"You know Papa Olaf used to say that… in life there are some relationships that are and aren't worth the risk," Greg continued, "Of course he said that with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a bong in the other, but…" this earned him a small laugh from Sara, "He once said that not one woman is worth the skin on your back, but all women are worth your life."

"Kind of like 'one woman is too many and all women are not enough'?" Sara asked, a small smile creeping at the corners of her mouth.

But Greg didn't find this humorous. Greg had grown silent, just looking over at Sara. Her face was dirty and bloody and bruised. Her clothes were torn and bloodstained; her eyes were… they were heavenly…

"You're worth it, Sara," Greg finally whispered.

It took Sara a minute to realize what he was saying. "…What…?" she whispered back.

"You're worth it, Sara," Greg repeated, feeling his voice start to hitch in his throat. No, no, no, no, this couldn't be happening, he thought, he was the tough guy. He was the big strong guy who didn't puke at his first autopsy. Sara had said she hand and… oh dreams of Sara…

"Greg…" Sara whispered. She could tell he was trying to be strong. But a part of her didn't want to admit to herself that Greg was saying all this. She wasn't anything special; she wasn't worth the tears or the heartache. "Greg, I'm _not_ worth it," she whispered, "I'm not worth you telling me all this. I come from a broken family, my relationships have all been loads of crap, just me lying to myself to be happy…" she whispered, "And on top of that I'm the most gullible person you'll ever meet. My prom date raped me in the backseat of his car." She finished with a tone almost nothing above a whisper.

The area grew silent except for the sound of young beat cops running around trying to restrain the curious group of bystanders clawing to get through the crime-scene tape barrier. There was the sound of some sirens from police cars, there was the sound of the wind rustling…

…and then there was the sound of movement. Sara watched as the silent tears she had willed wouldn't fall began to descend down her cheeks, blurring her vision as a figure began to come into her line of vision. She couldn't tell who it was at first but after blinking a few times she recognized them immediately. "Greg," she whispered, "Greg, stop it, you're going to hurt yourself."

Greg had pushed himself up using the remaining strength he had left, suddenly found somewhere deep from within himself. He didn't know what it was, except that he had never felt anything quite like it before. His hands were practically shaking as he managed to pull himself to his knees. He felt moisture running down his face and realized his tears were falling.

"Greg, please," Sara choked. Oh god, he was hurting himself because of her and—

"I would never, ever hurt you, Sara," Greg whispered, reaching down and grabbing her hands in his. "I might not be the model boyfriend, or… have the best sense of style," he added, "But I would never dream of hurting you, Sara," he whispered. "I promise you that."

It was love, then he realized it. That strange feeling was love. That wave of nausea in his stomach was love, that tingling sensation in his arms and legs was love. His heart was pounding because he loved her.

"Greg," Sara let out another cry, the tears once again flooding her eyes, "Greg, I don't want you to make a mistake, you don't have to—"

"If you're a mistake," Greg whispered, "Then you're the most beautiful, intelligent, sweetest mistake I've ever seen in my entire life. You're my favorite mistake."

Sara let out the sob she had been holding in the entire time as she pushed herself forward off the ground into Greg's arms, linking her own around his neck as tight as her bruised body would allow her to. Greg moved his arms to try and hold her. "I love you Sara, and I always have," he whispered to her.

"I love you too," Sara whispered.

And then both their bodies gave out. Simultaneously they both fell back to the pavement, falling back into unconsciousness. But in the black void of nothingness there was a warmness that they both immediately found, a comfort there somewhere.

It was love.

The End


End file.
